


Almost Father

by Sassaphrass



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Baby Jon, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Ned's Solid B+ Parenting, Papa Ned, Parental Love, R plus L equals J, Sibling Love, Vignettes of Ned raisng Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassaphrass/pseuds/Sassaphrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned Stark rode south looking for justice. He rides North with his sister's bones and a bastard baby. That the bastard isn't his son by blood is neither here nor there.  </p><p>Through the years Ned tries to do right by the boy his thinks of as a son, but between the terrible truth and the painful lies it's not so easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bastard Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Because watching that scene all I could think was: When would Ned have ever had the chance to learn the first thing about babies?

Ned does not think he has ever held a baby before. Or if he had it was Benjen when Ned himself was tiny.

 

Surely he has never held one as young as his nephew tiny and fragile and his to protect.

 

Because for all this is his sister's child, the boy is his. There is no one else. Rhaegar died on the Trident. Lyanna in her bed of blood.

 

He had knelt next to her all afternoon the baby between them. She had stroked his tiny cheek and tried to sing to him through her weeping.

 

And then she had died.

 

The queen, prince and princess were yet at Dragonstone. He could have ride for it and give the child to them. The last living son of the last dragon, as they were already calling Rhaegar.

 

He would be rid of the burden, rid of the memory of Lyanna's suffering, her grief and her death. But he had promised her he would protect the boy.

 

And more than that. He _hates_ the Tagaryens as he has never hated anyone or anything. They had done this. All they'd needed to do was give her back! And they had not. They do not deserve the hope the last son of Rhaegar would bring them. They do not deserve to have this child of the north.

Because, his nephew is tiny and helpless and precious.

 

Were he more like Robert, Ned could hold him with one hand, but Ned has never been as careless as his friend, and he won't risk the tiny baby on a lark.

 

He leaves the woman to see to Lyanna's body and walks down the steps. Howland is waiting for him with the bodies. He raises his head when he hears the baby fussing.

 

The crannogman stands and walks over. He needs to stand on tiptoe to see what it is that Ned has cradled in his arms.

 

“Lyanna had a baby.” Ned tells his friend, stating the obvious.

 

Howland nods. “So I see.”

 

Ned laughs brokenly. “What do you even do with a baby?” he asks.

 

Howland looks at him sympathetically. “I'm not entirely sure. Feed it perhaps?”

 

Ned stares at the little baby who blinks up at him, a dark unfocused gaze.

 

He has Stark eyes, unlike Ned, whose sandy hair and blue eyes set him apart. Rhaegar's son has brown eyes, like Benjen, and Brandon, Lyanna and Lord Rickard.

 

The baby makes a small unhappy sound, and Ned collapses slowly on the steps clutching the child close and sobbing.

 

Wars end but are never won.

 

 

 

He rides North with his sister's bones and a bastard child. That it is not precisely _his_ bastard is neither here nor there. It was Ashara who came up with the plan. Ashara who found Wyla to nurse the child, and clothes for him and told Ned what he must do.

 

He had looked up at her as she handed things to him, pale and wan and still the loveliest woman alive and remembered when they last spoke. The future they had almost had together.

 

It was a different life then, he would have followed Lyanna to Storm's End and served Robert as his master of Arms or his Castellan perhaps. He would have asked his father to inquire about the hand of the lady of Starfall and taken her even if she had had a bastard.

 

After all, the second son of Winterfell need not be so careful of his honour as the lord must be.

 

She had looked back at him sadly, perhaps also remembering a smaller more welcoming future that would never be, or perhaps only seeing the shy foolish boy who'd once asked her to dance and who she'd half forgotten until he brought her her dead brother's sword and an infant.

 

It's impossible to say, and he dared not ask her then. Despite his new position, he's still the boy unused to speaking. Shy, solemn or sullen that had called him once. Now that he's a great lord they'll say he's dignified, and reticent, noble in his silence.

 

They travel north and Jon cries. The boy tends to scream if he is not being held, Wyla does her best, but she has an infant of her own to tend to, and Jon is relentless. So they all find themselves desperatedly rocking the boy. Ned tries to sing him the songs Lyanna sang as she lay dying which mainly seems to confuse the infant into silence, but at least he _is_ silent.

 

Sometimes the child quiets and is tucked safely into a basket next to his milk-sister to ride in the wagon with the wet-nurse.

Ned pretends he doesn't miss the familiar warm weight in his arms on those days, and that he doesn't worry something must be wrong when Jon stays quiet for more than an hour at a time.

 

 

 

 

They take ship before they reach King's Landing, because Ned hasn't the heart to lie not yet and can't face Robert until he can tell the story they've concocted without hesitation. So they huddle in the cabin of their ship and Ned holds the baby and wonders what he'll tell his wife.

 

He has a son, he knows though he's never seen the boy. He has a wife, though he hasn't seen her since their wedding.

 

Howland sits next to him and tries to tickle Jon into smiling.

 

Jon doesn't smile, which worried Ned at first but Wyla assures him that the baby is still too young.

 

Ned thinks it fitting that we come into the world knowing how to scream and cry, but that it takes time to learn to smile.

 

There's not much to do on a ship when you're a High Lord so he spends most of his time with his nephew. Ned learns the what soothes the boy and what riles him. He let him gum softly at his finger and that, while Jon apparently is happy enough to be sung to by everyone else and tends to gurgle appreciatively when Howland or Wyla sing lullaby's, he is confused by Eddard's singing voice on only stares at him as though he's grown another head when he tries.

 

So Ned tells him stories. He talks about his brother, and his sister, and the war. He tells Jon about baby Robb who will be his brother and who Ned has never met.

 

He tells him all the stories and secrets that he will never be able to share once the boy is old enough to understand. He tells himself the story of Jon Snow, the bastard son Ned Stark brought back from the war so many times that, in his heart, he forgets that it's a lie.

 

When they make landfall in White Harbour he is sad to put the baby back in the wet-nurse's arms. It's a ride of a few days to reach Winterfell and the wagon is slow, but the war has hardly touched the North. It's as safe a journey as two men, a woman and a baby could make in the North.

 

Catelyn hadn't even wanted to marry him, Ned tells himself. It was Brandon she was meant for. Perhaps she wouldn't care that he'd brought back a bastard, or perhaps she'd make that noise women make when presented with babies and be pleased that her son had a brother to play with.

 

Howland looks at him skeptically when Ned voices these hopes and muses aloud about how Ned really doesn't know much about women, before they part ways and he turns south towards the Neck.

 

Ned flushes red, but is glad for the warning when he arrives back at Winterfell and is immediately presented with his trueborn baby son- Robb, who's hair is red and who gurgles happily and doesn't scream bloody murder the way Jon would have if Wyla had deigned to try and hand him off to a stranger.

 

Ned stands there holding his son and wanting to cry. Catelyn's face is a cold mask of courtesy and Ned can't blame her. He's shamed them both by bringing a bastard home, and she must have had her own hopes as well that were dashed as surely as his have been by this foolish wasteful war. She sends Wyla back to White Harbour almost immediately, Jon is old enough to weaned she declares, and they have nursemaids enough for both babies.

 

That night Ned and Catelyn lie next to each other stiff and uncomfortable. Neither moves to close the distance. They lie there staring up at the canopy and hearing the faint wailing of Jon in the distance.

 

Ned has heard that baby cry enough to know he's not hungry, or dirty. He's just distressed. He hasn't had to fall asleep anywhere but in someone's arms since the day he was born. The child's never had a proper cradle, or slept in a nursery, and with Wyla and Howland gone, the poor little thing must think everyone has abandoned him.

 

Finally Ned stands and slips his feet into slippers.

 

“You should leave him, Ned.” Cat's voice comes detached and cold from the darkness.

 

Ned sighs. “It's best I go. Unless you want to listen to him crying all night. And have him wake Robb as well.”

 

Catelyn doesn't say anything, just rolls over to face away from him in bed. Ned pads down the hallway towards the nursery.

 

The nurse stands over Jon's cradle making shushing noises.

 

She turns to Ned with a tear streaked face when he enters. “I'm sorry m'lord. I've tried everything that the little ser likes, but he won't quiet! I can't make him quiet, maybe it's the bastard blood but-”

 

Ned holds up a hand. “Do not trouble yourself. You can go, I'll sort him.” She looks at him with wide fearful eyes, but nods shortly before all but fleeing from the room.

 

He walks over to stand over the cradle. Jon has twisted himself free of his swaddling and is red faced and squalling. He looks a little devil. Ned reaches down carefully to pick him up. The baby's eyes open, he looks up at Ned and he quiets, still crying but softer-small hiccups and grizzles instead of screeching wails.

 

Ned walks over to the rocking chair in the corner, trying to carefully tuck the boy into his blankets and failing miserably.

 

“Aye, yer alright, lad.” Ned whispers. “You thought we'd all left ye, didn't ye?” He rocks the chair a bit. Jon quiets even more. “Most of 'em are gone.” Ned admits. “Ye'll not see Wyla or Howland again in this life I'd wager. But, you've got me little lad.” He holds the baby up to look him squarely in his little face. “I made a vow, and I shall see you grown and cared for. No matter what I'll never cast you off or renounce you.” Jon's quiet now and trying to stick his entire fist into his mouth.

 

Ned smiles softly. “Ye'll be alrigh'. Nothin' to fear while yer with me. Not in these wall. Your a Stark though your haven't the name. This is your place.”

 

He places the baby back in the crook of his arm and rocks the chair some more. Jon has stopped crying but he doesn't look any nearer to sleep. “You mustn't get used to this.” he chides the infant. “I can't be rockin' you to bed every night. I've your brother to think of- wouldn't want him to get jealous. Ye'll have to get used to sleepin' on yer own.”

 

Jon just stares up at him with those big black Stark eyes. Ned knows better, but he starts to hum the song Lyanna sang as she lay dying, mumbling the words and the tune.

 

Jon blinks up at him for a moment with his usual bewilderment at Lord Stark's insistence on trying to sing when he was such a poor voice, but then he smiles.

 

 


	2. The Broken Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon recovers from an illness and Ned tries to find a balance between his wife and his nephew.

 

Ned stands in the wooden walkway and watches as Catelyn crosses the yard hand in hand with Robb. He smiles at the sight, at the way Catelyn smiles dotingly down at Little Robb, who is trying to pull away, eager to run after something or other that has caught his attention.

 

He frowns when he see Jon Snow cautiously approach with Maester Luwin. Ned can see the hope in the little boy's posture, even from here. Jon dips clumsily and greets the Lady Stark with all the courtesy his few years can muster. His face is turned up towards her with a look of such innocent hope that it breaks Ned's heart.

 

Cat barely even breaks stride, as she steps around him without giving him so much as a glance, and her face remains the cold mask of indifference she has always struggled to wear around the boy.

 

Jon stands stunned in the middle of the yard for a moment, the eyes of every servant and man-at -arms on him. Maester Luwin shuffles forward, and tries to take him in hand to lead him back inside, where he by rights really shouldn't have left so soon after his illness, but Jon bats the hand away and runs. Maester Luwin follows in hot pursuit.

 

Ned takes a deep breath and tries to push away the memories.

 

He had been traveling to the Mountain Clans when the word had reached him of Jon's illness. The pox. He had ridden for home with his heart in his throat knowing the entire time that it was fruitless, that the boy would either be dead or recovered by the time he made in back to Winterfell.

 

He had rushed to the boy's little room without wiping his boots or removing his cloak. He'd demanded to be taken to his son and burst into the room half expecting to see him cold and dead laid out on top of the covers.

 

Instead Jon had been sitting up, his hair even more tangled than usual and he had smiled at Ned.

“Father you came back!!” he'd squealed delightedly. Though, Ned couldn't help but notice his breathing faltering with just that tiny exertion.

 

Ned had turned to Maester Luwin who hovered in the doorway. “The boy will make a full recovery.” The Maester had pronounced

 

Ned nodded in relief and collapsed into the chair drawn up next to the bed.

 

Jon was clutching something, he smiled brightly up at Ned who tried not to notice the way the boy's skin was so pale he could see the spidery blue of veins at his temples. How long has he laid abed? Ned wondered.

 

“Did you come back just because you heard I was sick?” Jon asked brightly, and hopefully.

 

Ned smiled softly and reached over to ruffle his hair. “Aye, lad. I did.”

 

“You didn't need to do that.” Jon told him seriously. “Lady Catelyn took excellent care of me.”

 

That had surprised Ned. “She did?”

 

Jon nodded energetically. “Yes. Look- she even made me this and hung it above the bed-”

 

He handed Ned the wooden hoop he had been clutching. There were crude figures strung along the spokes of the wheel. Seven figures for the seven gods.

 

“I asked Maester Luwin about it when I woke up and he told me it's a charm only a mother can make.”

 

Ned stared at it in shock. This was the first sign he'd ever seen that Cat cared the slightest bit for her little dark-haired step-child.

 

“She sat by my bed all night. And wet my brow, and prayed to all the seven gods that I would live. And she made that. For _me_.” Jon told his father practically bouncing with excitement.

 

Ned glanced up at Jon's little face which was positively beaming in delight. It was obvious he considered the pox small price to pay if it meant the Lady Stark might have come to love him.

 

Ned had felt the worn-out hopes he'd long stopped nurturing stirring in his chest. Perhaps Cat had softened towards the boy. Perhaps she'd be kind to him now. Perhaps she'd even love him.

 

 

Looking at Jon run crying from the yard, Ned knows it was too much to hope for.

 

He pounds his fist against the railing and stomps off.

 

He finds his wife sitting in the solar.

 

Ned steps through the door. “Leave us.” he barks to her ladies.

 

They go. Cat eyes him curiously.

 

“What is it Ned?” she asks.

 

Ned sighs.  “I have never asked that you treat my bastard with kindness, I have never asked that you love him. But, what you've done? It was cruel, and that I will not tolerate.”

 

Cat blinks up at him in confusion. “I beg your pardon my lord, but whatever cruelty you believe I committed I did so unintentionally.”

 

Ned sighs again and kneels before his wife, taking her hands in his. “You gave the poor child false hope. You sat with him through his sickness and made him a charm for the seven to guard him and then you treat him as coldly and callously as ever. Surely, you are not so blind as to think the boy would not believe this meant you had come to care for him in some small way?”

 

Cat looks away. “I cared for him out of love of you. As I know he is dear to you, and because I felt that my...neglect and indifference had somehow led to his illness.”

 

Ned clenches his jaw and stands.

 

“I doubt that very much My Lady, but if I learn that to be so, you will answer to me.”

 

Cat inclines her head. “As you say, My Lord Husband.”

 

Ned turns on his heel to hunt down Jon. He finds him in the nursery, only recently vacated and likely soon to be filled again by the baby whose life has only just stirred in Cat's belly.

 

He finds the boy tucked behind the empty cradle, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his fast puffy and streaked with tears.

 

Ned crouches down and draws Jon up into his arms. It's worryingly easy. Jon has never been a large boy and the fever burned away what little there was of him. He's all bones now.

 

He sets the boy on his lap and tucks his cloak around both of them.

 

Jon sniffles against his chest. “Nothing will change.” he sobs. “I try so hard to please her, I do everything I can think of but she-”

 

Ned shushes the boy. “Hush Lad, there's no way to make someone love you. And it's no fault of yours- it's _mine_. I brought you back here and I shamed her, but she cannot hate me for I'm her husband, so she hates you instead. You've never done anything to deserve it.”

 

“She made me a charm!” Jon wails. “One only a Mother can make, and only for her children! Maester Luwin told me so when I asked him about it! Why would she do that if she didn't mean it?”

 

Ned shakes his head. “I don't know. P'rhaps she realizes she's the only mother you've ever known. Perhaps it is as she said and she did it out of guilt and love for me, but it matters not.”

 

Jon peaks up at him, hopeful, but cautious too. He's begun to learn the hard lessons that come with the life of a bastard. 

 

Ned smiles down at him reassuringly. “ _I_ love you, precious boy. Very much.”

 

Jon smiles tentatively back and burrows against Ned's chest. “I love you too, Father.” he confesses.

 

Ned stands still cradling the boy to him. “Now, back to your bed with you. I'll not have you taking sick again because you were up too soon.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot mainly taken from the story Catelyn tells in season 3 about looking after a sick Jon Snow and begging the gods to let him live and promising to love him if they did, because she felt guilty for all the times she'd asked for him to die. Of course she doesn't keep that promise, but I figured...
> 
> Jon is still quite little at this point, though the timeline is quite handwavey (not unlike the show...tbh).


	3. The Boy from the Iron Islands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned goes to war and comes back and wishes things didn't have to change. 
> 
> Jon makes a couple of new friends.

Nothing good can last forever, the Stark of Winterfell knows that better than anyone. For years Ned had been left alone in the North to enjoy his peace and watch his children grow. Jon and Robb were as close as Ned had once hoped they'd be, and he had been blessed to add a daughter to the house.

 

But _Winter is Coming_ was the constantly litany of the North _._ Aye and winter came.

 

And with the spring the Greyjoy's rose in revolt against Robert and Ned had to ride to war, and leave his children and his wife behind.

 

He wasn't nervous to leave Jon now. Catelyn and the boy had settled into a distant prickly indifference, at least that was how it seemed, and Ned had arranged it so his wife was never forced to interact with the boy. Instead it fell to others to look after him, Ser Rodrick trained him and minded him, Maester Luwin taught him and sat with him, Robb played with him and the cooks spoiled him.

 

The people of Winterfell had noticed the resemblance his bastard had to Lyanna. Though his hair was black like Benjen's, he had her softer features, and wide lips. No one thought it strange, but some of the small folk who remembered her loved his little boy better for that resemblance.

 

It comforted Ned when he rode to war to know he need not fear that Jon would suffer cruelty or neglect at the hands of Lady Stark, after all for all that she was well liked and respected many still thought of her as a southern lady with strange gods, and Jon was a child of the north. The servants would protect him from her if the day ever came that he needed it.

 

Not that it was likely. Jon was a sweet child who'd learned the hard lesson of keeping out of Catelyn's way, but Ned doubted he needed to do so to quite the extent that he did. After all Robb adored Jon and Catelyn adored Robb, so she wouldn't grieve him by harming his favourite playmate.

 

Jon loved both his siblings. Robb, and the tiny dainty Sansa. Jon had been fascinated by the baby and begged Old Nan to let him hold her. He seemed awed that a person could be so little and had pestered Ned for weeks about whether he had ever been so small and disbelieved him when Ned told him that he had been small enough to hold with just one hand.

 

Robb had less of an interest in the little girl, and no patience for lying on the floor of the nursery as she toddled around and babbled sternly at him.

 

Catelyn did not seem to notice that Jon enjoyed playing with his sister, or if she did she pretended not to care. After all Jon was young yet, and she could hardly ban the child from the nursery where Old Nan held her court and told tales to Robb and Jon and tiny Sansa (it was an unspoken rule of Winterfell that Old Nan's will must be obeyed).

 

When Ned rode to war with his men and his wife and true born children arrayed themselves to see him off. Jon was in the back, Micken, bless the man, had put the boy on his shoulders so Jon could wave goodbye over the heads of the other commonfolk of Winterfell. Ned caught the boys eye and smiled. Jon beamed back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

Ned rode home with those of his men that were still alive and a boy named Theon who was his ward and his hostage. The last son of Balon Greyjoy was a skinny energetic boy that had a certain wary watchfulness which reminded Ned in a strange way of Jon.

 

The boy rode uneasily. Understandably, since there weren't many horses on the Iron Islands, not when there was so little need for them. Ned beckoned him closed to ride alongside. The boy complied.

 

Ned tried to smile. Tried not to think about knocking that not-quite handsome head from off those thin shoulders.

 

“I have two sons of an age with you.” he tells the heir to the Iron Islands. “Robb, who is my heir, and my bastard Jon Snow. You will be schooled with them, and I hope in time you may become friends and companions.”

 

Theon nods and smiles, and speaks empty works he no doubt hopes Ned wants to hear. Ned smiles gently, though he knows the Iron Islanders think gentleness a blight, and dismisses him with a nod.

 

Theon will grow up with his sons. He will share their joys, their sorrows and their hardships. In times perhaps if the gods are kind then the three boys will be as close as Ned and Robert had once been a thousand years and a life time ago.

 

The boys perhaps will come to love him, but Ned never will. He knows his duty, and it is the hard truth that he can never allow himself to love this boy, this last son of Balon Greyjoy- not when he will one day have to send him home again (with or without his head).

 

Theon takes to Winterfell in fits and starts. It's obvious the boys are in awe of this stranger from the sea who boast of ships and strange dead gods. Robb wants to know everything. Wants to fight and play and all the rest. Theon obliges like he's doing the heir of Winterfell a favour.

 

Cat is torn between her mistrust of the Greyjoys, a relic from her girlhood in the Riverlands where the Ironborn were still well remembered and well hated, and her satisfaction at seeing Robb with a playmate closer to his own station.

 

Jon is warier of the newcomer, and sometimes Ned wonders whether that is the boy's true nature or something he's learned growing up a bastard.

 

Ned smiles to watch them training under Ser Rodrik. Mikken wanders over from the forge.

 

“Your lad is better than the little Lord, Milord.” he says.

 

Ned turns and raises an eyebrow. In the current bout Robb seems to be winning handily.

 

Mikken nods to the wooden walkway and Ned glances up to see his lady wife watching the boys, a small smile on her lips.

 

It makes Ned frown and look a little closer at the fight. There's no hesitation in Jon's movements, no sign at all that he's losing on purpose, if that is what he's doing.

 

“Why do you say that?” Ned asks.

 

Mikken shrugs. “When _she's_ watching he always loses. When she's not, he almost always wins.”

 

Ned nods, and hesitates a moment before asking. “She's not been...She's not _harmed_ him, has she? While I was away?”

 

Mikken looks at him frankly, and there's a tinge of judgement that he needs to ask such a question of his lady wife, but mostly there's respect that he asked at all.

 

“No. S'Far as I know she's not even spoken harshly to him, but then she rarely speaks to him at all.”

 

Ned nods. Anyone can see that Jon is healthy as a horse, well fed, clean and properly, if somewhat more shabbily that Robb, clothed. He can ask no more than that of his lady wife.

 

“Good.” Ned tells Mikken.

 

“He's a good lad.” Mikken blurts out. “We're fond of him, Milord.”

 

Ned smiles and nods at the smith. “Good. It makes me glad to hear it.”

 

He walks away from the smith to join his lady wife. The boys stop their fighting and stand up straight as he passes.

 

“Father.” Robb says with a smile.

 

“Lord Stark.” Jon and Theon echo one another with little dips of their heads.

 

The words make Ned's throat close up, Jon never called him anything but 'Father' before he rode away to war, but he just smiles widely to the boys. “You've been doing as Ser Rodrik asks?”

 

Robb nods eagerly. “Of course, Father.”

 

Rodrick inclines his head. “They've been most disciplined, My Lord.” he says proudly.

 

Ned smiles wider. “Good.”

 

He joins his lady wife and looks over his shoulder at the boys. Theon is grinning and shoves Jon in the shoulder. Jon has his head bowed and allows the taller boy to jostle him. Rodrik barks a command and they all resume the correct forms to begin another bout.

 

She looks at him and then smiles down at Robb. “He's a credit to your house.”

 

Ned smiles at her and takes her hands. “A credit to our house.” he reminds her and she smiles at him.

 

 

 

Robb and Theon quickly become fast friends, as Ned hoped they would, and though it takes Jon longer and he never quite takes to Theon in the same way, in time it's clear he too has come to like the lean smiling boy from the Iron Islands. They form a little tribe, the three of them, and can almost always be found together. Everyone takes to referring to them as a collective- The Boys.

 

Ned is glad, that they have made a peace though they are all so different from one another. Of course, Theon is older and little interested in book learning Maester Luwin reports. Robb is quick and sharp as a flint with a head for details. Jon is quick enough when he puts his mind to it but is easily bored by things that aren't tales of knights, and battles.

 

Theon favours the bow as his weapon of choice, Jon the sword, Robb the sword and shield. Robb likes to play games of strategy when he can find a willing opponent. Jon prefers to listen to Old Nan's stories while playing with his sisters, and Theon likes to fight imagined enemies in the Godswood.

 

But, as different as they are, they are still friends, perhaps one day as close as brothers, Ned reminds himself.

 

If sometimes it seems that Theon has displaced Jon, it is neither here nor there, but Ned can't help but notice that if there is a game that only two can play that it will always be Jon who must sit it out, and there's nothing he can do about it. Boys are boys after all.

 

That of The Boys Jon spends the most time on his own is usually of little and less concern. After all Winterfell is large but not so large that it's too difficult to find a little boy who, quite frankly, is neither very good at hiding nor particularly determined not to be found.

 

But, one day Jon whisks Arya out of the nursery unseen, which sends Catelyn into a rage and Ned is frantic to find the boy and consider the matter dealt with before Catelyn can drag him out from under whichever table he has made his fortress and beat him black and blue for frightening her.

 

She has half the serving maids on the task and Ned has enlisted the men at arms and is frantically combing through the courtyard when Mikken pokes his head out of the smithy.

 

“What's happen Milord? Is aught amiss?” he asks.

 

Ned sighs. “Nothing of consequence, just some childish foolishness. Jon's taken Arya for a walk and now we can't find either of them.”

 

Mikken freezes and clears his throat awkwardly. “I...uh...might have a small hint as to where they've gone, if Milord would follow me?”

 

Ned nods, and follows Mikken back into the heat of the forge. An apprentice boy is working the bellows so it's not till he's past the great forge and into the armoury that he hears it- giggling.

 

Mikken bends down and emerges from behind a rack of swords with on of Ned's children under each arm. Both of them are smiling and too absorbed with eating honeycombs to mind over much being manhandled- in fact Jon laughs harder and squirms as though this is a game they've played before.

 

Ned takes his daughter from Mikken. She smiles at him and grabs his beard with chubby honey coated baby hands.

 

Mikken sets Jon on his feet in front of him. Jon glances warily between the two of them and then tries to cram the rest of the honeycomb into his mouth as though he thinks they might try and take it away.

 

Mikken looks at Ned shamefaced. “I'm sorry milord. The lad liked the heat of the forge in the winter and I saw no harm in lettin' 'im linger when the little lord was at his lessons. Me wife keeps bees and oft as not I'd give him a little bit of comb to chew when he comes to sit with me. So he brought the little miss down for a taste.”

 

Mikken looks distraught. “He didn't mean no harm.”

 

Ned laughs. Arya is practically coated with honey, and while Jon had obviously tried to be more careful his hands and face are smeared with the stuff.

 

“And I see no harm done. Except perhaps a big brother who is spoiling his little sister rotten.” Ned reassures the blacksmith.

 

Jon has been watching the entire exchange carefully and looks aghast. “No, Lord Stark! Honest! I wasn't spoiling her! Never spoiled nothing in my whole life!'  


Ned feels his throat tighten. _Lord_ Stark, again. He'd thought he'd been home long enough that whatever uncertainty Jon had felt in his absence would have faded.

 

He reaches out and ruffles the boy's hair, before pulling him close for a one armed hug. “None of this Lord Stark nonsense, Jon.” He grumbles. “I'm still your Father.”

 

Jon bites his lip and nods. He takes Ned's hand and it's all Ned can do not wince at how sticky it is.

 

He thanks Mikken for minding his wayward children and walks back out to the yard. He points to a spot next to the smithy. “You stay right here while I return your sister to the nursery where she belongs. Because she can barely walk, and doesn't talk yet.” He reminds Jon pointedly. 

 

“I was careful!” Jon protests with a pout. “I'm more than big enough to look after her myself!”

 

Ned huffs. “Not quite lad! Not quite.”

 

He returns Arya to her mother with an abridged tale of the smith's wife offering the children sweets and Jon not wanting Arya to miss out, before returning to him.

 

Jon is standing in the exact spot Ned left him. Say what you will about the lad but he seems eager to please if you only show him how he may do it.

 

He looks up expectantly when his father stops in front of him. Ned looks down on his with mock solemnity. His bastard (and the lie has been told so often that it comes to mind before the truth does) is shorter than Robb, and a bit stouter, he has more baby fat on him and it makes him look younger than his brother.

 

He huffs and puts his hands on his hips. “Now what am I to do with you, you little rascal?” he asks.

 

To his shock Jon's stares up at him in wide eyed terror. “I'm sorry Lord Stark.” he says in a small voice. Too long. He'd been away far too long, if a gentle reprimand can frighten the boy so much. Part of him wants to scoop the child up and reassure him that he will never hurt him, never deny him, and love him always. “Come with me to the Godswood.” Is what he says instead.

 

 

They settle down to sit at the foot of the heart tree and Ned turns to look at his nephew. “We're in the presence of the gods now, so you must speak true: what is this Lord Stark nonsense?”

 

Jon scowls and stares at the ground.

 

“I'm just a bastard.” He finally mutters. “I have no right to call you Father. It's not the proper courtesy.”

 

Ned closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This has southern lunacy written all over it and he wonders who he has to blame: Maester Luwin, Septa Mordane or Catelyn herself.

 

He hauls the boy into his lap. “Did someone actually tell you not to call me Father?” he asks.

 

Jon pauses and shakes his head. “Not exactly, but Maester Luwin said-”

 

“Maester Luwin most like wanted to be sure you observed the proper formalities when we have guests. Like, when Robb calls me _Lord Father_. But, they're no necessary for ordinary days.”

 

Jon seems to mull that over. “So...I'm still allowed to call you Father?”

 

Ned kisses the top of Jon's dark head. “Of course.” he hesitates. “..in informal settings.” he adds with a wince.

 

Jon turns to stare at him with wounded confusion.

 

But then the boy bites his lip and nods. “Of course.”

 

Ned's heart aches. Sometimes he wonders if he shouldn't tell the boy the truth, but that seems like to cause more harm than good. He doesn't want Jon to look at him with wariness. To break the trust Jon has in him, already such a fragile thing.

 

He doesn't want to have to teach the boy the realities of the world he is going to face but, Jon is a bastard. No matter how you look at it he will be a bastard. Truth or lie he is a bastard, and bastards occupy a precarious place in the world. It does the boy no good to leave him unprepared for that.

 

Ned will have to thank Mikken, for looking out for the boy while he was away. The Gods know that it wouldn't have occurred to anyone else that Jon might be in need of a little coddling, and a few treasures of his own in a world that would one day belong to his brother.

 

It pleases Ned to know that there's _someone_ in the castle for whom Jon is the favourite.

 

 

And, if, from that day forward, Ned is willing to give Jon anything he asks, so long as he phrases it with a solemn “Lord Stark” and accompanies the request wide sad eyes, well that is neither here nor there.

 

After all, Ned may be a hard man but he's not made of _stone_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: in the books Arya is supposed to be younger than Bran, but in the show I've always assumed she was older than him? So. She's older than him here. And I think I read a thing about her being born during the Greyjoy rebellion which I liked. So I stole it. 
> 
> I also decided that since Mikken does a thing that he must know Lord Stark won't approve of for the sake of Arya and Jon than he probably as least likes them. Also, Jon deserves to be someone's favourite. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also this has been 90% finished for weeks so...finally posting!


	4. The Black Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benjen comes for a visit and questions Ned about the choices he's making in regards to Jon.

Benjen leans on the railing and watches the boys with an eagle eye.

 

He nods toward Jon. “He's gotten faster since the spring and my last visit."

 

Ned comes up and stands close to him. “Aye, he's a good lad. Sweet. Makes me worry a little.”

Benjen smiles his soft crooked smile. “Well, it's no mystery where he got the sweetness from.”

 

Ned suppresses a smile and turns away from his brother.

 

It's wonderful and strange when Benjen visits. Like the past is less dead and buried and the boy he'd once been is still there. The boy who'd been a sweet second son.

 

Things have escalated down below and Jon drops his sword with a shriek as Arya takes him down with a flying tackle.

 

“He looks like Lyanna.” Benjen comments softly. “More each time I see him.”

 

Ned shrugs. “His mother had dark hair, and he has the Stark look.”

 

Benjen looks at him, as though he's not certain whether or not he believes him and whether or not to dispute the matter with him. In the end he just sighs and leans back away from the parapet.

 

“Was she short too?”

 

That makes Ned laugh, because it's true. Jon is much smaller than the other boys, and certainly doesn't have the lean height of the Starks. But, Arya is small for her age as well, and Ned thinks that has more to do with the short of stature Liddle blood from his mother's side than anything else.

 

Benjen sighs and shakes his head. “It would be well if he was like Lyanna in spirit as well as looks. Your wife hates the boy.”

 

“She doesn't!!" Ned protests automatically defending his wife. Benjen sends him a withering glance.

 

“She just doesn't like him very much.” Ned admits sheepishly.

 

Benjen shakes his head and huffs. “And what will happen to him when he becomes a man?”

 

Ned swallows. “There are a number of paths he could take.” He replies with a forced casualness, as if he hasn't lain awake at night worrying about Jon. About all the ways this lie could unravel and all the terrible fates that could befall him.

 

Moments like those he'd wished with all his heart that Jon was still that tiny infant who wouldn't stop screaming because as hard as that had been at least the problems were solvable, but this?

 

This isn't something with an easy answer.

 

Benjen nods as though he expected precisely that reply. “There's always a place for him on the Wall.”

 

Ned glances at his brother sharply, surprised by the suggestion. “It won't come to that.”

 

Benjen quirks his lips. “He's a Stark with dreams bigger than his reality. It _always_ comes to that. Why else would our family have manned the wall for a thousand years?”

 

“Just because it did for you doesn't mean-” Ned protests.

 

“Don't be a fool brother!” Benjen snaps. “The boy may not be wild like Brandon and Lyanna were, but he's a Stark. You think he doesn't realize that Robb will rule a land as large as 6 of the kingdoms put together and he'll have nothing but what he manages to scratch out for himself?” Benjen shakes his head.

 

“He's not a Stark.” Ned states coldly.

 

“And I suppose you think he'll be content to wile away his life here? Become Master at Arms after Ser Roderick passes. Serve like a servant to his brother?”

 

Ned glares at him and looks away. “There are other paths. I might make a match for him. Or he might follow one of his sisters when she weds. He could study as a maester, or cross the narrow sea to live as a sell sword. He is free to do as he wishes. As free as a bird.”

 

“Aye.” Benjen mutters darkly. “And poor as one.”

 

Ned glares at his brother.

 

Benjen watches him closely from the corner of his eye. “He looks like her.” he repeats. “But he's not wild like she was. He won't blaze a path of his own, like she did.”

 

Ned glares at his brother. "To her sorrow." he points out. Yes, Lyanna had been wild and free. She had found her own path, but it had lead only to sorrow and death.  

 

“There's honour in serving the Night's Watch." Benjen insists. "Freedom. A man gets what he earns there, when he earns it. It's a hard life. But, it might suit him.”

 

Ned shakes his head. “Perhaps he'll fall in love and spare us all the grief.” He suggests hopefully.

 

Benjen barks out a hoarse laugh. “Aye, for love's never caused any Stark the slightest grief.”

 

Ned can't help but smile at that. “Don't be filling his head with foolish tales.” he begs.

 

Benjen sighs. “You can't leave it. There must be some plan for the boy's future. He'll have no future without some help from you.”

 

Ned scowls. “Perhaps he'll make his own way. Most men seem to manage it without a great name.”

 

Benjen sighs. “I think not, Ned. For all he looks like Lyanna, it's you he reminds me of. He will do his duty.”

 

Ned grins. “You really think he's like me?” he asks proudly. 

 

Benjen rolls his eyes. “Like you once were. Too serious by half, protective of his siblings and perhaps a bit too fond of cakes.”

 

Ned scowls. “What are you suggesting brother?”

 

Benjen feigns innocence. “Nothing, Lord Stark, nothing at all.”

 

Ned cocks his head and squints at Jon. “Are you saying he's plump?” he growls, indignant on the boy's behalf.

 

Benjen bites back a smile. Ned's frown deepens as something else occurs to him. “Are you saying I was plump?” Ned scowls at him in mock-out rage and then chuckles.

 

Benjen looks around, his face coloured with the wistfulness of nostalgia and old remembered grief.

 

“I haven't seen...that is...Do you still keep horses?” It's an inane question. Of course Winterfell still has a full stable, it would be wildly impractical not to keep a fair number of horses for the castle and town. The North is too large to be traversed easily on foot.

 

But, that's not quite what Benjen means, and Ned knows it. 

 

They've wandered up the walkway towards the castle walls and Ned looks stoically out across the moors.

 

Ned sighs. When they were children they'd had their own horses, all of them. Ned and Benjen had just had one a each, but Brandon and Lyanna had had a half dozen between them, because they had so loved to ride, each one a prized darling who was spoiled beyond belief. 'Half-centaur' Howland had said of them after the tourney. Those horses had been his siblings' beloved pets. Brandon had taken his with him to King's Landing, and Ned has no idea what became of them. Lyanna's had been left here.

 

Ned doesn't know what happened to Lyanna's horses either. Presumably someone else from the town or castle rode them to war. All he knows is when he returned and saw the empty places those prize horses had one occupied he hadn't had the heart to replace them.

 

Yes, there were horses in Winterfell but they weren't _Ned's_ horses. They didn't have names, or braided manes and were certainly nobody's darlings except the stable boys.

 

Robb had declared a particular horse to be his own, and the three youngest children shared a pony between them. Ned was sure they'd probably given the creatures names, that or the stableboys had, but Ned had no interest in that, and compared with his siblings, neither did his children.

 

So, he still keeps horses, but he doesn't really _keep horses._ Not anymore.

 

Ned shakes his head. “The children have their favourites.”

 

Benjen gives Ned a searching look. “And Jon? Does he ride much?”

 

Ned glares at his brother. “What do you mean by that? You said yourself, he's not much like her for all he looks like her.”

 

Benjen shrugs. “I didn't mean anything by it. Just, it would be nice, to think there's some legacy to her life. That she didn't just...go, and leave no trace she was ever here.”

 

Ned thinks of his wild willful youngest daughter who is far more like his sister than his nephew, and the way she longs to fight and brawl. Maybe Lyanna can have a legacy in her, even if it's a more unexpected sort. He thinks that is a better one than the child she may or may not have wanted. No, better to honour Lyanna by allowing Arya her wildness. It is, Ned thinks, one thing that no one could ever doubt Lyanna would have approved of. 

 

Ned sighs and nods. He looks over the moors.

 

“Why do you make such a secret of Jon's mother?” Benjen asks suddenly.

 

Ned turns in complete shock, anger rising. “Because it's no one's business but my own!”

 

Benjen shrugs. “By keeping it such a secret you encourage more speculation.”

 

Ned snorts. “Let them talk.”

 

Benjen looks at him.

 

Ned sighs. “The truth would...the truth wouldn't make things easier for Jon.”

 

Benjen leans on the parapet. “Ned, how many bastards have you actually met?”

 

Ned pauses.

 

“Other than Jon!” Benjen adds.

 

Ned thinks. “There were maybe a few, during the war.”

 

“Maybe? There's plenty on the wall. Tough little buggers the lot of them.”

 

Ned is gaping at him now.

 

“Do you know why so many of them end up there? Cause they've nowhere else to go. They're stuck. They spent their whole lives waiting for the moment they were tossed out in favour of legitimate children and for each of those lads on The Wall that day came, and when it did they weren't smallfolk- they didn't know how to make their way or find a living. There's no certainty in the life of a bastard! Not one thing nor the other.” Benjen shakes his head. “It's no way to live, Ned. At least tell the _boy_ about his mother. Than he can say he, at least, knows who he is.”

 

Ned huffs. “Catelyn thinking he's the son of Ashara Dayne protects the boy. The smallfolk thinking he's the son of some beautiful peasant, Jenny of Oldstones type, protects him. Jon is terrible at lying. I tell him and he loses one or both of those.”

 

Benjen throws his hands in the air. “Then keep your precious silence you stiff necked fool!” he shouts. “But, _You_ need to choose! _You_ need to plan!!! He's nearly of an age when he could take an apprenticeship. If you truly don't have a plan: apprentice him to a smith. There's always a living to be made for a smith. Or make a concrete plan that he will follow one of your girls and make Catelyn swear to honour it. Send him to Oldtown to be a Maester. But do _something_! He can't stay here forever, a lesser thing than all his siblings.”

 

Ned blinks at Benjen, heart suddenly in his throat. “I can't send him away. I can't send _any_ of my children away. I couldn't bear to be parted from them.”

 

Benjen smiles sadly at his soft-hearted brother. “Is that why you haven't sent Robb to foster somewhere?”

 

Ned shakes his head and stares into the distance. “I've lost too much family as it is. I'll not send any of them away.”

 

Benjen grits his jaw. “At least you got to see her again, one last time. Lyanna. I never saw any of them. My family all just rode away over the horizon.” he points to the distant line. “And only you ever came back.”

 

Benjen turns to his brother,calmly and seriously “You must know that you're wrong, Ned! He's not better off not knowing, because now he gets to wonder. His life is uncertain enough without not even knowing who he really is. Winter is coming, Ned. It's better to prepare than to dream summer can last forever and have the cold take you unawares. Should something happen to you, he'll be left to wonder for the rest of his life.”

 

Ned closes his eyes against the burning in them, which he tells himself is nothing but the wind. He knows there's sense to what his brother is saying, and Jon deserves better than the rough life of a smith. Ned will think of something.

 

Winter is coming, but there's still time. He tilts his face towards the feeble warmth of the northern summer sun. Yes, winter is coming, but there's still time. Ned will think of something.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone's wondering Benjen definitely has some very strong suspicions about Jon's true parentage. Yes, this is not the adorable child antics that you came for, but, Benjen came for a visit and apparently he did not want to play with small children, he wanted to smack Ned while screaming "Look at your life! Look at your choices!!" 
> 
> So. Here we are. Timeline-wise we have entered the Long Summer. There will probably only be one or two more chapters which will bring us up to the start of the show/overlap with the first couple episodes.


	5. The Half-Forgotten Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rickon is born and Ned comes to a realisation.

Like all babies, Rickon enters the world with blood and screams. Ned is called in to hold the child, kiss his wife and thank the maester and the midwife who attended before Cat asks him to go fetch the other children to meet their newest brother.

 

Ned finds Sansa with Septa Mordane in the sept, but can't find hide nor hair of his other children until he discovers Theon over by the archery targets and is informed that his children have gone off to 'talk to the trees again'.

 

Ned sighs and heads into the Godswood, where he finds his children by the heart tree. Bran is kneeling very seriously with his hands in front of him and his eye closed. Arya is fidgeting as she struggles to stay still. Robb sits with his back to the tree staring into the black pool at it's roots.

 

Jon is kneeling between Arya and Bran, staring up at the face of the Weirwood with a look so desperately beseeching that despite the joy and lightness that buoys Ned he can still feel his heart squeeze at the sight.

 

The children all turn their heads as they hear him approach, their faces full of fear and excitement. He smiles at them, so proud of his family and so full of love for his wife he thinks he might burst.

 

“You have a new brother.” he tells them. “Rickon, and your mother is well and wishes to see you.”

 

Bran grins and bolts to his feet, leaping lightly through the woods like a deer, making for the nearest wall rather than the gate. Arya scowls and grumbles about wanting a sister before barreling after him, crashing through the under growth like a raging boar.

 

Robb hesitates and gets to his feet. “Mother really is well?” he asks.

 

Ned smiles. “Both of them are healthy as horses.” he assures his eldest.

 

Robb nods and begins to quietly pick his way along the path back to the gate, with several uncertain glances back at Jon thrown over his shoulder as he goes.

 

Jon looks morosely up at his father and then draws his knees up to rest his chin on them. He looks very small and very sad sitting there alone at the bottom of the great tree.

 

Ned hesitates and then sits beside him. He notices now that the collar of Jon's tunic is worn, and there's dirt on his face and it occurs to him that he has no idea who among the women of the castle sees to the boy's upkeep. He's certain it's not Catelyn, but who exactly has inherited the task he has no idea.

 

He reaches over and ruffles his son's mop of dark curls.

 

“You can go up to the nursery and see him when Nan's taking care of him.” he assures Jon.

 

Jon nods and ducks his head a little.

 

Ned sighs. In some ways he wants to leave the boy here, take the day to be happy and proud. Push away this one small heart that's breaking.

 

“What were ye praying for?” Ned asks.

 

Jon shrugs. Ned smiles, always a one for words, his Jon.

 

“It was good of you to look after the little ones.”

 

Jon peaks out, and smiles. “Robb was here.”

 

Ned smiles conspiratorily at his nephew. “Yes, but Robb wasn't looking after them, was he?”

 

Jon bites back a grin. Ned smiles, wraps an arm around him to pull him close and plants a kiss in those dark curls.

 

He wonders sometimes where Jon acquired them. Lyanna's hair hadn't been so dark, nor so curly, and it seems impossible they'd come from a Targaryen, but there he is. His little black haired boy with hair as dark as Benjen's and as curly as Robb's.

 

Jon smiles at him proudly. He's good with his little siblings, and devoted to them.

 

“Did Sansa not want to get dirty kneeling in the woods?” Ned asks.

 

Jon's smile dims and he stares at his father in blank astonishment. “Sansa doesn't talk to me anymore, Father.” he informs in a voice laden with scorn and incredulity that Ned has not kept abreast of the constant power struggles, petty feud and fierce alliances that are the natural state of his children's lives. “Not since she understood what 'bastard' means.”

 

Ned feels a mounting frustration with his proud southern wife and her proud southern ways. It probably hadn't even been her who'd given Sansa the notion, but the septa who'd come north to teach his daughters to be proper ladies in the southern style.

 

Ned can't help but roll his eyes with a scoff, and Jon grins conspiratorially up at him, delighted at his usually non-partisan father deigning to take a side in a childish dispute.

 

He ruffles the boy's hair, smiles at him and stands. “I'd bet you can sneak in to visit your new baby brother later this evening. Old Nan will no doubt be sitting with him.”

 

Somewhere in this conversation, Jon had uncurled and now sits cross-legged on the roots of the great weirwood. Black on white.

 

He smiles up at his father. “Alright.”

 

 

They have a feast that night, and Ned sits the midwife and her husband next to him and tries his best to learn what he can about their lives while simultaneously preventing his children from running riot throughout the hall. Arya is yelling past Sansa at Bran about something and Robb and Theon have their heads together conspiratorially, to an extent that Ned is almost afraid to ask what fresh hell they're about to concoct. Jon arrives quietly, eats quickly and leaves without attracting much notice.

 

Ned would worry about that except he's too busy trying to prevent complete pandemonium from breaking out that he hasn't really got a thought to spare about his bastard.

 

It's only afterward when The Boys have been aimed away from anything valuable. Arya and Bran pried apart, and Sansa's tears dried (and why she was crying when it had been Bran Arya was going after Ned did not know and was too exhausted to unwind at the moment) that Ned wonders where exactly Jon has gotten to.

 

It's not that it unusual for Jon to disappear off on his own. Ned was aware their was a clear pecking order among The Boys and that Jon was firmly at the bottom below Theon (who was below Robb) and that sometimes the best place to be in that situation was as far as possible from the other two. But, Jon can usually be reliably summoned with food and had barely appeared at all at the feast.

 

He's pondering this as he heads up the stairs to check on Cat when he hears it: a small familiar voice singing a tune it takes Ned a long while to place. He peaks into the nursery where Nan sits at vigilant attention, inclining her head as regal as any queen when she catches sight of him. It's not her who's singing though, it's Jon who's hanging over the side of the cradle crooning at his newborn brother.

 

“I'm Jon.” He solemnly informs the infant. “I know you met the others, but, I thought I should let you know that I'm the best of the big brothers.” He breaks off into that same itchingly familiar tune. “I'll look after you. I promise. Just like Bran and Arya.”

 

Ned clears his throat and Jon whips his head around as though he's been caught doing something wrong. He blushes when he realizes who it is.

 

Ned smiles. “You're a good lad, Jon Snow.” He informs his son, before heading towards his wife's room.

 

Cat is sleeping, as he realized she must be when he saw the baby with Nan. Cat is fierce when it comes to her children, and would not suffer the boy parted from her unless she was exhausted. Ned strokes her dark red hair and considers kissing her sleeping cheek. In the end he decides against it. She has laboured hard this past day, he wouldn't want to disturb her rest.

 

He crawls into bed and begins to drift off when a thought lodges it's hooks into his brain and jerks him bolt upright.

 

He knows which song Jon had been singing! One that Ned himself had hummed to the screaming boy on many a long dark night. One of the ones Lyanna had tried to sing through her tears as she lay dying.

 

He grabs a candle from the table and stumbles in the darkness out into the hall where he lights it on a torch. He has his robe on, and some slippers, but it's still most undignified and he sends a silent prayer to the old gods that none of the servants catch him traipsing around in the dark.

 

He stops at the store room by the kitchen and the wanders out into the yard before heading down to the crypts.

 

It's damp and cool down there among the statues of the dead, and Ned busies himself lighting candles around the statues of his family. Brandon and Lyanna both seem far too serene like this. They were never so still or so calm in life.

 

Suddenly Ned pauses as he realizes that standing here in the flickering candles, he feels no ache in his chest. Just a tender wistful sadness at what was lost. No terrible pain or grief. The dead are still dead and will forever remain so.

 

He lights a candle at Brandon's feet, watching the play of light on his noble upturned face. It is a better likeness than Lyanna's. The sculptor carved him striding forward with a hand on his sword about to draw it. It is very like the brother he remembered, constantly running towards a battle.

 

 

He is a better lord than Brandon would have been. A better husband, too, and he has come to love his prickly hot tempered Riverlands wife as fiercely as he ever loved anyone. He cannot even truly regret his brother's death anymore, since it led to her and to their children. He would not trade even one of them for Brandon. How could he?

 

He melts the bottom of a candle and places it in the carved stone hand of his sister.

 

He would not trade Jon for his sister, either. He would not trade his dear sweet dark-eyed boy for anyone, no matter the dishonour that a bastard brings to the Stark name.

 

He looks up at his sister's sweetly carved face. Unlike Brandon, this is not the Lyanna he remembers. Lyanna wore her hair loose, and it tended to tangle. She was wild and willful and brave. He hopes she is at peace now.

 

He knows she died loving Jon, and he hopes she would love him still, if she'd had the chance to know him.

 

Ned suspects she wouldn't have known what to do with her soft eyed gentle son. He sighs and casts his eye around the crypt.

 

This had once been his family, and except for Benjen it is all that truly remains of his boyhood.

 

As Ned climbs the steps back to the courtyard he smiles to himself. No, not smiling- grinning. He is grinning as he climbs the stairway.

 

The crypts aren't going anywhere. The day will come when he'll rejoin the family of his childhood, but for now, the family of his adulthood is waiting up above, and he is eager to see them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was going to be longer, but I decided to end it here, on this nice fluffy point.


	6. The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ned and Jon have a much needed talk, but not the one they probably should be having.

 

Ned has always been distantly aware of the various power struggles and petty dramas among his children, but over all had never given them much thought or attention because they weren't serious.

 

However, given that Jon just tried to beat Robb to a bloody pulp and had to be dragged off his brother by Theon, Ned perhaps needs to reassess that stance.

 

No one is exactly sure what happened, only that Jon, sweet quiet Jon who has infinite patience for his little brothers and sisters, dropped his sword, jumped on Robb and started hitting him as hard as he could.

 

And then, after being pried apart, had run like hell.

 

Catelyn is in a fury about it, Robb is more stunned than really hurt and Theon seems to find the whole thing funny for reasons that he refuses to explain.

 

Everyone is too shocked to explain to Ned what exactly happened other than Robb's indignant shout of “Jon HIT me Father!”

 

He leaves them to the Maesters and goes looking for Jon.

 

Despite the size of Winterfell, Jon is not usually that difficult to find. The boy, bless'im, has about three spots he tends to retreat to if he's trying to escape the rest of the family and Ned has discovered them all years ago.

 

Unfortunately, Jon is neither hiding in the armoury behind Micken's forge, in the larders, or tucked away in one of the high cold unused rooms above the nursery.

 

Ned emerges from a brief discussion with Micken and is surveying the courtyard with a frown when his eye catches on a small form scampering along the roof line of the stables.

 

“Bran!” he shouts. Bran freezes like a rabbit in a trap, and turns very slowly to face his father, balanced carefully on the roof peak, rocking back and forth as he waits, completely unconcerned by the drop.

 

Ned sighs and silently sends a prayer to the gods asking what exactly made them send him such...individually wonderful, but collectively maddening children. Honestly, one son is a squirrel and one daughter is a hyena, and the older boys apparently have started beating each other to a bloody pulp. Thank the gods for Sansa.

 

“Bran, where did Jon go? Did you see?” he asks.

 

Bran keeps rocking and stares at his feet in that way which means he's about to lie.

 

“No, I don't know where he went.” Bran mumbles.

 

“Bran.” Ned says in a low warning voice that promises dire consequences.

 

Bran wriggles uncomfortably under his father's gaze.

 

“I don't want Jon to get in trouble.” Bran admits sulkily.

 

Ned is caught between scowling and grinning. On the one hand, why does everyone assume Jon's in for a beating because he punched his brother in the nose? On the other, he is warmed by the loyalty his youngest children have for their bastard brother who is, he thinks, secretly their favourite.

 

“Jon's not in trouble.” Ned growls, then thinks for a minute and corrects himself. “At least, he won't be if I find him before your Mother does.”

 

That makes Bran grin impishly. Everyone in the castle knows how Catelyn is about her children. Hells, if Ned ever thought to raise a hand to any of them she'd probably hunt him through the castle with a stolen sword.

 

Bran screws up his face thinking. “Promise?” he asks warily.

 

And Ned is suddenly a little worried about how Jon is treated when he's not around. Why else would Bran be so concerned about what will happen if Jon gets caught?

 

“I promise.” he tells his second youngest earnestly. “I just want to talk to him.”

 

Bran relents. “He's in the Godswood. Praying.”

 

Ned rolls his eyes. Of course. It's just like Jon not to even bother to hide.

 

“Thank you Bran.”

 

Bran preens and grins. “You're welcome, Father.” he replies brightly before scampering off up a vertical wall with an ease that makes Ned's head hurt.

 

Ned heads to the Godswood and finds Jon on his knees by the heart tree, eyes closed and mouth moving in silent prayer.

 

He looks up as Ned approaches and moves over a little so Ned can sit beside him next to the cool dark spring.

 

Jon glances nervously at his father, who sighs and stares at the water without saying anything for a long time.

 

Finally, Ned breaks the silence.

 

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” he asks gruffly.  


Jon bites his lip and stares at the pool, trying to ignore the choked feeling in his throat and the burning in his eyes.

 

“What's going to happen to me when I grow up?” he asks.

 

Ned blinks and turns to his son with a frown. “And what does that have to do with why you punched your brother in the face?”

 

Jon flushes guiltily. “I-..uh- it was nothing. Childish foolishness.”

 

“All the same, I'd like to here it.”

 

Jon hunches in embarrassment. “There's a game we play, when we're sparring, where we call out the names of the hero we are and try to find the best one. So, Robb will say 'I'm Lord of Winterfell' and I'll say “I'm a King of Winter' and he'll go “We'll I'm, Aegon the Conqueror and I'll go-”

 

Ned cuts him off. “I think I understand.”

 

Jon forces a rueful smile as he realizes he was rambling. “Anyway, this morning, we got out the practice swords and were practicing and I started the game saying: “I'm the Lord of Winterfell” and he said “You can never be Lord of Winterfell, you're a bastard” and then I hit him.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“But, it was just a game! I know I'll never be Lord of Winterfell for real, but it was only a game! Why did he have to go and _ruin_ it?”

 

Ned sighs and shakes his head and puts an arm around his son. “I don't know. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm-”

 

Jon squirms out of his father's hold and stands up to face him. “What's going to happen to me when I grow up?!” he asks a second time. “I can't even be a lord in a game, so what's going to happen to me when I'm a man?”

 

Ned considers his son. Jon is growing, and looking less like a child every day. He's gangly and coltish, his frame stretching out from his childish plumpness. He'll be a man soon enough.

 

The question he's asking is fair, and it's not one that Ned can afford to avoid much longer.

 

Ned sighs and thinks for a long moment about how to answer it. “You can choose.” he says at last. “You choose what will happen when you become a man. You could go to White Harbour and learn a trade, sail a ship and live the merchant life. Or you could go to the Free Cities as many do. You could sell your sword or journey to Oldtown to try and earn your chain and be a Maester. Or take the black like your Uncle Benjen...or stay here with your family.”

 

Jon looks at him sadly and then stares at his feet. “I don't think there'd be a place for me here, even if I wanted to stay.”

 

Ned snorts. “Walder Frey has half-a-hundred trueborn children and nearly as many bastards, and they all have a place at The Twins. I love you as much as I love any of my trueborn children, and you are Robb's brother, his greatest friend, and he loves you. There will always be a place for you here if you want it.”

 

Jon gnaws on his bottom lip. “But, what about the Lady Catelyn?”

 

Ned sighs. “I never said it would be an easy place, or a comfortable one. Lady Catelyn would not overrule her lord, whether it be me or Robb but she'd certainly make her feelings known.”

 

Jon thinks about that for a minute and then sits down again next to Ned. “What do _you_ want me to do?”

 

Ned shrugs. “I dream you'll stay here, and follow your sister Arya, when she weds. She's a wild thing, like your Aunt was. She'll need your help, I think, when she weds.”

 

Jon laughs. “Arya doesn't need anyone Father.”

 

Ned shrugs.

 

“Benjen says there's always a place for me at the Wall.” Jon blurts out. “Nan's told me stories about the Night's Watch. I think I'd like it there.”

 

Ned frowns. He has never wanted Benjen to be filling his son's head with tales of the Night's Watch and their dubious honour and even more dubious glory, but it seems Benjen managed to skirt around his eagle eye at some point.

 

“Aye. There's always a place for good men in The Watch.” Ned grudgingly admits. “But they take old greybeards as readily as they take green boys, and you have your whole life to take that oath.”

 

Jon broods. Ned bites back a smile because, half-grown or not, Jon broods very well.

 

“Where do you think Arya will marry?” Jon asks. “North or South?”

 

Ned can't answer that. He knows Arya would do better in a Northern house, but the Mormounts have an over abundance of daughters, as do the Manderlys and the other great Northern houses have sons that are already nearly men, and far too old for his youngest little daughter.

 

Which is not even considering the alliance with another great house that it will be expected he make, now that House Stark is so closely linked to the crown.

 

“I don't know.” Ned admits.

 

Jon gives his father a significant look. They both know that if she marries South there will be no place in her new home for a bastard brother. Not unless she marries as far South as South goes and heads to Dorne, which would cause a host of other problems.

 

Jon stares at him for a long moment.

 

“I want to join the Night's Watch.” he admits. “I want to go somewhere where I'll be wanted and not just tolerated.”

 

Ned shakes his head in denial. “You're young yet. You don't understand what you'd be giving up.”

 

Jon has set his face in an expression of Stark-ish defiance. “All the same, it's what I want. And you said it was my choice.”

 

Ned turns his face away. “Not yet." Ned stalls "I won't have you take the black until you're a man grown. Not yet.”

 

Jon looks thoughtful. “Alright, not yet.” he concedes. “But someday.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last main 'story' chapter of this fic. There will be an epilogue which will bring the story up to the beginning of the show/books.
> 
> Also, sorry for the unreliable updates. The muse wandered off and created a Star Wars Alternate Universe, so that's a bit of a time suck.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pack of direwolf puppies is found. Ned and Jon part ways as one goes south to King's Landing and the other heads north to the Wall.

The day is warm, despite the small drifts of summer snow that have collected at the edges of the stone bridge, but it's been a cold night, so the wolf carcass doesn't smell too terribly.

 

Ned is in a sombre mood already,even without mysterious portents in the form of dead stags and direwolves.

He hates executions, and he knows Catelyn is unhappy at his bringing Bran along, but the boy is old enough now that he's got to begin to learn the way of the world. Robb and Jon were never as sheltered as Bran has been and it's time he learned the hard truths of the Old Way.

 

“There are no direwolves south of the wall!” Robb insists as they all stand around staring at the creature.

 

“Well, now there are five.” Jon tells him matter of factly before turning to Bran. “Do you want to hold it?” he asks, and then without waiting for an answer, shoves the puppy into his little brother's arms.

 

Bran cuddles the pup close in the folds of his cloak. “Where will they go? Their mother's dead.” he asks. 

 

“They don't belong here.” Rodrick explains.

 

Ned sighs. “Better a quick death. They won't last long without their mother.”

 

“Right!” Theon snaps obediently, unsheathing his dagger and reaching for the puppy in Bran's arms. “Give it here!”

 

“Noo!” Bran protests as Theon snatches it out of his arms.

 

Ned can tell already that Bran is going to cry when Theon kills the pups. Catelyn will be furious about that, but there's no help to it. It's no kinder to leave them alone to starve to death.

 

To his surprise it's Robb who protests. “Put away your blade!” he barks.

 

“I take orders from your father, not from you!” Theon retorts.

 

“Please, Father!” Bran begs.

 

“I'm sorry, Bran.” Ned says, not particularly regretfully. What would become of the orphaned direwolves if they were not killed now? They'd grow to be a menace or they'd die slow. Better to deal with them now and have done with it.

 

Jon, who has been standing silently staring at the pups, turns. “Lord Stark.” he says, in a clear loud voice.

 

That stops Ned in his tracks. Jon almost never calls him by his title. He only uses it in front of guests, or if he's asking for something very important.

 

“There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the symbol of your house. They were meant to have them.”

 

Ned looks away from Jon, who just stares up at him a wide-eyed earnestness, and Bran, who's face has transformed with eager hopefullness at Jon's speech.

 

It has not escaped Ned's notice that Jon is saving the pups only by excluding himself from Ned's children. It's not fair and it's so like Jon- to find exactly the right words so that Bran's heart won't be broken, despite the hurt Ned knows Jon feels at not being considered part of the family.

 

Everyone looks to Ned.

 

No one else realizes it but Ned knows that Jon knows exactly what he is doing. Ned has never been able to deny his son anything when he respectfully calls his father “Lord Stark” and speaks with large wounded eyes.

 

Jon asks for so little and tries so hard. From the moment he opened his mouth there was no chance Ned wouldn't relent. That doesn't mean Ned has to be happy about allowing vicious beasts into the castle.

 

“You will feed them yourselves. You will train them yourselves, and when they die, you will bury them yourselves!” he barks.

 

Robb and Bran immediately begin gathering the pups. Ned spares one last glance for Jon, who despite his little victory, looks even more miserable and bereft than usual.

 

There's nothing to be done about it though. So, Ned rides on and leaves the boys to handle the business of transporting five direwolf pups on horseback.

 

He doesn't see Jon again until later that night though he passes Sansa and Rickon, both consumed with passionate delight, and unbounding adoration of their new pets. It makes him smile to see them so happy.

 

Before supper he wanders down to try and find where Robb and his direwolf have gotten to and finds Jon in the kitchen cradling a puddle of snow white fur against his chest as he tries to coax the tiny little pup to drink some milk.

 

Ned stares incredulously. “What is that?”

 

Jon beams up at him. “The runt of the litter.” he explains holding up the tiny puppy. It's albino with blood red eyes. “It had crawled away from the rest. Theon said it must be mine. I've called him Ghost.”

 

Ned stares. He hadn't truly believed that the old gods had sent the pups to guard his children. But, looking at Jon and Ghost, Ned can't help but wonder if there had been some truth to what his son had said.

 

Jon puts the puppy back onto his lap and strokes it. He glances up at his father.

 

“The King is coming to Winterfell. I think he means to ask me to be the Hand of the King.” Ned tells him, for no particular reason.

 

“You'd have to ride south.” Jon points out.

 

Ned nods.

 

Jon stares down at the puppy. “I can't stay here, with Lady Catelyn if you've gone away.”

 

“You could.”

“I won't!” Jon protests. His face in that stubborn set that reminds him of Lyanna.

 

Ned sighs and sinks down to sit next to his bastard. “The King isn't here yet, let's just see what happens.” Ned suggests, but in his heart he knows he's already lost. Jon is right, if Ned goes south with his youngest children, the only life Jon would find at Winterfell would be a miserable one. Robb may love him but Catelyn's hatred of the boy has only grown with the years.

 

Sometimes Ned wonders if he erred in not trusting his wife with the truth. But, how could he have told her? He'd barely known her when he returned from the war, and telling her now wouldn't mend anything.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Ned parts ways with Jon, for only the second time since the midwife placed his nephew in his arms, Jon screws up his courage and asks about his mother.

 

“Is my mother alive? Does she know about me? Where I am? Where I'm going? ...Does she care?”

 

Ned knows that the time has come to tell the boy, that whatever power or danger the truth of Jon's birth might once have held, it no longer mattered. But, they are at the crossroads on horseback with men waiting on them just barely out of earshot and it is not the proper place to tell the story of Lyanna and her death, and his flight north with a baby he'd come to love as dearly as he'd ever loved anyone.

 

“When next we meet, we'll talk about your mother. I promise.” Ned tells Jon solemnly.

 

Jon nods, satisfied and Ned kicks his horse into a canter to catch up with the party heading to the South.

 

Ned thinks of Lyanna and how she loved her horses, and how much he has come to love her son.

 

Jon has chosen his path now, for all the Ned has tried to turn him from this course, and there's no harm in his knowing the truth. Part of Ned wants to turn around, ride after his son, catch him, and tell him everything right there in the middle of the road.

 

The truth hasn't weighed heavy on him in years, but he knows it would comfort Jon to hear it.

 

When Ned looks back the Night's Watch party is already too far ahead for him to catch up easily and he contents himself with the idea of telling Jon when he returns from the South.

 

So he clicks his tongue and moves up the column looking for Robert. He has a long journey ahead of him. There's no point spending it worrying about Jon, after all Benjen will be there, and Ned trusts his brother to look after him.

 

Ned is almost certain Benjen has worked out the truth of Jon's birth. If things go ill in the South, Ned is relieved to think that his brother can tell Jon what he needs to know of his mother and his birth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the dialogue in a lot of this is taken directly from the pilot and second episode of the tv show. 
> 
> Anyway, here we are at the end. I hope you liked this little story. Big thanks to everyone who left kudos or commented.

**Author's Note:**

> The writing is a mess but, I was having a lot of feelings okay?


End file.
